"Stay here, you can hide here, and lie low," Sirius said as he was
leaving, "I will check up on you."
Hide here, and lie low, Peter repeated to himself, restraining a chuckle. How foolish Sirius was! He could check up on Peter all he wanted- but he would not be waiting. Oh no, he would be with The Dark Lord, reaping in glories and honors that Sirius could not even begin to fathom. But, "Yes Sirius," was all he said. It was funny how often he had said those two words. The thought to disobey Sirius had never even crossed his mind until now, so eager was he to make and maintain "friends." And now the thought he would do something for himself was liberating. It was the start of a new life for him.
He was glad when the door finally shut behind Sirius. He was surprised to find that he did not feel even the slightest twinge of regret to see him go. After waiting several minutes to see if the man would return, Peter again pushed back the sleeve on his arm, revealing the dark mark.
It glistened in the firelight, beckoning to him. "I am coming master," he whispered. Gingerly, he placed the thumb of his left hand on the mark, and willed to see his master. He felt himself lifting off the ground. Images of the room became blurry, and they wavered in front of his pale blue eyes. And then they were gone, and he found himself in a cold stone chamber, that not even the light of the fire could light.
"Wormtail..." A voice so cold it made him shiver spoke from out of the darkness. "What news do you bring me now?"
Hastily, Peter flung himself on the floor, like a traitor begging his king for mercy, "Master!" He breathed.
He heard a rustling above him, and when he glanced up, he saw the velvet folds of his master's cloak arrayed upon the floor directly in front of him. He felt, rather than saw others approach; other death eaters always on hand to do their master's bidding. And there were snakes to, slithering around him, red eyes taking in every stray thread in his robes, every grain of dirt in his hair.
"Speak! Wormtail, what news do you bring?"
"Master!" His voice was low now, transformed with excitement. Already he pictured his awards. Wormtail, Voldemort's right hand! He shivered in delicious excitement. No more would he be looked down upon. "Master," he repeated, "The Potter's have made me their secret keeper!"
Cold laughter erupted from somewhere high above his head. It filled the room, his ears, and his mind. He waited for the praise to begin, ears aching to hear the sound of his master's approval. But all he heard was laughter. It surrounded him, cold and unfeeling.
"You, have done well Wormtail," Voldemort finally said. "Come."
Peter rose, shakily to his feet, feeling the merciless stares of the deatheaters on him. Then, apprehensively, he gazed up into the face of his master. It was more snake-like than human. The Dark Lord possessed red eyes that gazed out of deadly white skin, stretched taught over the fine bones of the man/ snakes face. Instead of a nose, he possessed two slits in the middle of his face, and his teeth were more fanglike than anything. Peter shivered, and stepped back.
Voldemort leered at him, "Yes, Wormtail, you have done well. I have business with the Potters tonight!" Again he was laughing. But there was no joy in it. The Dark Lord was beyond any human feeling. Compassion and happiness had long been drained of Voldemort, leaving behind a cold, merciless creature.
Peter listened, all sense of grandeur fading. It was replaced by despair. What had he done? No! He abruptly told himself. He could not think of the Potters. He would be rewarded...in time.
The deatheaters were laughing now with their master, and the snakes around him swished to and fro, eyes and scales flashing in the cold cold fire. Peter shuddered convulsively and clutched his cloak to him as though for protection. And then he felt something seeping out of him. He quickly looked up, to see a trail of silvery white shadow extending from his master's hand to his own mind. It formed a misty globe in Voldemort's palm, and The Dark Lord looked at it lovingly, though love had long since departed from him.
Peter stared at it with numb fascination. His betrayal of James, Lily, and all the others was now complete. The Potter's secret keeper had betrayed them.
And then the globe vanished; sinking into Voldemort's palm, and the Dark Lord was brushing past Peter, robes floating out from behind the tall form.
Peter stared at the retreating figure. He was surrounded only by anonymous deatheaters and snakes now. And unbidden, a tear slid down his pale cheek.
"Betrayed my dear cousin and his friends now!" A feminine voice hissed in his ear.
Peter squeaked and glanced up, "Who are you?"
The woman laughed, though it was more of a screechy scream than true laughter, "If I told you my identity would you not betray me to?"
Then they were all surrounding him. Dozens of deatheaters circled about Peter, dissecting him with unfeeling eyes, and muttering dark thoughts. Suddenly Peter felt like a small child then. He squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his pudgy hands over his ear. He needed protection now- from all these...people... But there was nobody. He was surrounded by those who cared only for themselves. They would not hesitate to murder; all were out to survive, in the cold, hard world.
Just like him.
Hide here, and lie low, Peter repeated to himself, restraining a chuckle. How foolish Sirius was! He could check up on Peter all he wanted- but he would not be waiting. Oh no, he would be with The Dark Lord, reaping in glories and honors that Sirius could not even begin to fathom. But, "Yes Sirius," was all he said. It was funny how often he had said those two words. The thought to disobey Sirius had never even crossed his mind until now, so eager was he to make and maintain "friends." And now the thought he would do something for himself was liberating. It was the start of a new life for him.
He was glad when the door finally shut behind Sirius. He was surprised to find that he did not feel even the slightest twinge of regret to see him go. After waiting several minutes to see if the man would return, Peter again pushed back the sleeve on his arm, revealing the dark mark.
It glistened in the firelight, beckoning to him. "I am coming master," he whispered. Gingerly, he placed the thumb of his left hand on the mark, and willed to see his master. He felt himself lifting off the ground. Images of the room became blurry, and they wavered in front of his pale blue eyes. And then they were gone, and he found himself in a cold stone chamber, that not even the light of the fire could light.
"Wormtail..." A voice so cold it made him shiver spoke from out of the darkness. "What news do you bring me now?"
Hastily, Peter flung himself on the floor, like a traitor begging his king for mercy, "Master!" He breathed.
He heard a rustling above him, and when he glanced up, he saw the velvet folds of his master's cloak arrayed upon the floor directly in front of him. He felt, rather than saw others approach; other death eaters always on hand to do their master's bidding. And there were snakes to, slithering around him, red eyes taking in every stray thread in his robes, every grain of dirt in his hair.
"Speak! Wormtail, what news do you bring?"
"Master!" His voice was low now, transformed with excitement. Already he pictured his awards. Wormtail, Voldemort's right hand! He shivered in delicious excitement. No more would he be looked down upon. "Master," he repeated, "The Potter's have made me their secret keeper!"
Cold laughter erupted from somewhere high above his head. It filled the room, his ears, and his mind. He waited for the praise to begin, ears aching to hear the sound of his master's approval. But all he heard was laughter. It surrounded him, cold and unfeeling.
"You, have done well Wormtail," Voldemort finally said. "Come."
Peter rose, shakily to his feet, feeling the merciless stares of the deatheaters on him. Then, apprehensively, he gazed up into the face of his master. It was more snake-like than human. The Dark Lord possessed red eyes that gazed out of deadly white skin, stretched taught over the fine bones of the man/ snakes face. Instead of a nose, he possessed two slits in the middle of his face, and his teeth were more fanglike than anything. Peter shivered, and stepped back.
Voldemort leered at him, "Yes, Wormtail, you have done well. I have business with the Potters tonight!" Again he was laughing. But there was no joy in it. The Dark Lord was beyond any human feeling. Compassion and happiness had long been drained of Voldemort, leaving behind a cold, merciless creature.
Peter listened, all sense of grandeur fading. It was replaced by despair. What had he done? No! He abruptly told himself. He could not think of the Potters. He would be rewarded...in time.
The deatheaters were laughing now with their master, and the snakes around him swished to and fro, eyes and scales flashing in the cold cold fire. Peter shuddered convulsively and clutched his cloak to him as though for protection. And then he felt something seeping out of him. He quickly looked up, to see a trail of silvery white shadow extending from his master's hand to his own mind. It formed a misty globe in Voldemort's palm, and The Dark Lord looked at it lovingly, though love had long since departed from him.
Peter stared at it with numb fascination. His betrayal of James, Lily, and all the others was now complete. The Potter's secret keeper had betrayed them.
And then the globe vanished; sinking into Voldemort's palm, and the Dark Lord was brushing past Peter, robes floating out from behind the tall form.
Peter stared at the retreating figure. He was surrounded only by anonymous deatheaters and snakes now. And unbidden, a tear slid down his pale cheek.
"Betrayed my dear cousin and his friends now!" A feminine voice hissed in his ear.
Peter squeaked and glanced up, "Who are you?"
The woman laughed, though it was more of a screechy scream than true laughter, "If I told you my identity would you not betray me to?"
Then they were all surrounding him. Dozens of deatheaters circled about Peter, dissecting him with unfeeling eyes, and muttering dark thoughts. Suddenly Peter felt like a small child then. He squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his pudgy hands over his ear. He needed protection now- from all these...people... But there was nobody. He was surrounded by those who cared only for themselves. They would not hesitate to murder; all were out to survive, in the cold, hard world.
Just like him.
